


Silent Goddess

by self_indulgent_authorship



Series: Everglades [4]
Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Gen, Other Characters Are Mentioned, Selectively Mute Link (Legend of Zelda), Zelda is complicated and Link is Doing His Best, look! they’re like—getting along, who knew I could write such a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-22
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-28 04:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30134049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/self_indulgent_authorship/pseuds/self_indulgent_authorship
Summary: Memory Thirteen: Slumbering Power(but longer and with more Link)
Relationships: Link & Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Series: Everglades [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2197092
Kudos: 17





	Silent Goddess

**Author's Note:**

> I’m writing these so out of order, but we gotta strike where inspiration flows! Bear with me lol, and thanks for reading :)

The waters of the Spring had long turned cold, the sun too low in the sky to offer them any more warmth. Her gown was heavy, debilitatingly so. If she wanted to leave the water now, she would undoubtedly need assistance. Her hands were trembling, from the cold or something deeper, even she could not say. It hardly mattered anyway. 

She stared up at the stone face of the Goddess statue, struggling to find the words she was meant to say. How long had she been standing in this water? How much longer was she expected to continue this pointless gesture? 

How much longer was she to continue all the other fruitless endeavors which would surely follow it?

Her sigh sent a cloud of misty air out in front of her, swirling away with the next gust of chilled air. Somewhere behind her, she could hear him turn, likely to ensure she was alright, and she did her best to not tense at the feeling of his eyes on her back. A moment or two later, the quiet rustle of fabric and the clink of his sheath showed he had turned back toward the Quarry, leaving her to her relative privacy. 

No matter how she had begged for it in the early weeks of their acquaintance, she now found herself all but drowning in it. Standing here, drenched in sacred spring water and colder than anyone would find comfortable, she wanted nothing more than to be back on the road, where time didn’t matter and there were no heavy expectations. 

Quiet nights sitting under some outcrop of rock, with a campfire to warm their hands, and more blankets than ever should have fit in a saddle bag, a cooking pot of suspiciously good stew or mushroom skewers, and conversations unburdened by their respective duties, their unspoken pains. Early mornings when neither of them said a word at all, content to drag themselves back onto their horses and continue on to the next town, the next outpost, back home. Evenings when their only arguments were over which road they would take the following day, or what ought to be considered an edible wildflower. 

Moments when both of them—even him—could smile and speak as if the death hanging over their heads wasn’t there at all. She craved them more with every passing day, every moment that brought them closer to the battle ahead. 

Those moments were few and far between, now. For a handful of weeks, after she had apologized and they had found some small common ground to stand upon, they were able to be civil with one another, even friendly. He talked more, if only a little bit, and she genuinely listened, putting aside petty hurts and her own damage to try to look at him honestly. 

But her words on the road only a month or so before had brought the distance between them back down like a heavy curtain or an insurmountable wall. She had been so caught up in her own sad story that she had more than insulted his own pain. If he had been any closer to truly sharing with her, to real conversation of the deepest kind, she had ruined it. Wholly. 

And now their travel was filled with painful silences and distant kind gestures, many of which she had no way of thanking him for. Her words were gone as often as his were, now, and the longer they went without really talking to one another, the worse it became. 

Another gust of wind sent ripples across the water, mists from the falls chilling her face. She could not focus on this problem now. Sorting out Link would have to wait…

Her eyes were drawn to those of the Goddess statue, and she felt her composure fall away. 

“I’ve come seeking help,” she whispered, breaking the crushing silence of prayer for the first time in many years. “At this point I am desperate. This power I am meant to inherit…I fear no amount of prayer will unlock it.”

She twisted her hands, looking away. “I’ve spent nearly all my life dedicated to praying…at every sacred place and spring I am able to reach, I have prayed. I’ve begged assistance from every spirit tied to the ancient gods. And yet I am no closer to being heard by you…”

No response came. Neither in feeling nor word. She was alone in this sacred spring, as always. 

“Prayer will unlock the power to seal Calamity Ganon away,” she mumbled, her father’s words echoing in her mind. “Or so I have been told. And yet…mother did not pray, or at least…not like this. Nor did grandmother, if father’s stories are true…she could hear them, the voices from the spirit realm…and mother said that her own power would awaken in me, in time…”

She wrapped her arms around her middle, shivering, and wanting nothing more than to be held by her mother once more, in that warm light which surrounded her in her memories. 

Mother had never pushed her to grow past her limits, had let her do her research and calculations when she pleased. Mother had guided her, more so than any of the old books and legends of princesses past had. If her mother were still here, she was certain she would have found the power within herself years ago. 

But Mother was gone. And she was alone. 

Alone, praying to a beautiful statue of a Goddess who had never deigned to aid her. Never heard her years of prayer. Was readily damning their world to the destruction of the Calamity in whatever foolish practice this denial of power was. 

“Curse you,” she cried, her hands hitting the water with a great splash which sent water high enough to hide her tears. “What more could you ask of me? What else must I lose before you decide I am worthy? I have dedicated my life to this, sacrificed my own wishes at every turn, to save my people and my home and still you deny me the one thing which is my birthright.”

She heard him shift behind her, but her eyes were still on the carved face of her tormentor, on the smile which brought her no happiness. “If I am an heir to a throne of nothing but failure, it is you who has ensured it, not me. I have prayed to every goddess and spirit of this land, time and again, only to hear, to feel  _ nothing.” _

All of her anger left her as her voice broke, and she wrapped her arms around herself once more. It was a cold comfort, and not at all a substitution for what she really needed, but Mother was gone, and she was alone. 

“Please just tell me,” she whispered, shaking more now than ever before. “What is it? What’s wrong with me?”

No answer came, or at least, not from the one she had truly asked the question. 

But it seemed that her voice had risen enough in her anguish for him to hear her, as she vaguely heard him shift again. It was only when he splashed into the water behind her that she really noticed he had heard her. She turned quickly, and found him with one boot in the water, watching her intently. He gestured her toward him after a moment, his expression more open than it had been in days. 

Tears falling freely now, she felt her expression crumple as she left the Goddess statue behind and forced her way through the water toward his outstretched hand. It was a fight against her soaked dress and her own shaking hands, but she was far too upset to consider anything but getting out of this Spring. She wanted to leave this place, leave this failure behind her. 

He stepped further into the water as she came close, taking her hand as she reached for him and pulling her from the water with one quick tug. Her dress dripped loudly as he steadied her, making sure she had her footing before letting go of her hand. 

They stood there for a minute or two, her dress making a puddle around them and yet still a nearly painful weight on her shoulders. Her breaths were ragged, ugly and overloud in her ears. The cold was worse now that she was out of the water, each breeze sending a shiver through her and leaving her hands stinging. 

Perhaps when it became clear she would not move, he held his hand out again, coaxing. She took it, and he led her gently away from the stairs into the Spring, back toward the shelter of the Quarry’s entrance. And if she clung a bit too intensely to his hand and the warmth it offered, he made no indication it bothered him, or that he even noticed. 

She was thankful, even if it was only an illusion.

The wind died as they left the open air of the Spring. The torches on the wall offered little heat, but they were invariably better than the chill of the water. 

She thought that they might have gone back to their horses and fled this place, as they tended to do when she  _ failed,  _ but he stopped near the middle of the hallway and turned back to her. 

_ “Wait here,”  _ he signed, then dropped her hand and disappeared through the vines which hid the Spring. 

Still too shaken, she did as he said, letting her dress make another puddle at her feet and ignoring the trembling in her arms as much as she could. 

What were they to do now? What was there left for her to try? Only one Spring remained, and she could not reach it. Not now, anyway…and even if she could, there was no reason for her to believe it would be any different from the other two, or the dozens of other places at which she had prayed. But what else could she do? 

The rustling of the ivy jolted her from her spiral, and she looked up. He had returned with a bundle of wood and their bags slung over his shoulder, pushing the ivy aside as he ducked back into the covered hall. Dropping their bags on the ground (a bit unceremoniously, if you asked her) he motioned her closer again. 

_ “I’m going to build a fire,”  _ he signed, watching her carefully to ensure she understood.  _ “You can change?” _

The last came across closer to a question as he looked away, almost uncomfortable, despite the fact that they’d practically lived on the road in very close proximity several times. If her mood had been better, she might have smiled at his embarrassment, but as it was, she only nodded, took her pack from where he placed it, and went behind him to change out of his line of sight. 

She could hear him striking flint as she changed, leaving her sopping wet dress where it landed on the ground and pulling on her much more suited trousers and tunic. They were by no means her warmest clothes (and oh, how she wished for her cloak now) but they were certainly better than her dress. Her bracelets, her sandals, and all her other finery joined her dress on the ground. The bracelets had left marks on her arms again...they were covered by her tunic’s sleeves, but she could feel the indentations as she adjusted. Her sandals too had left lines on her feet, much more obvious as she pulled on her socks. 

Those lines left a funny feeling in her chest. Almost anger, but not burning hot enough to really be called that. She was too tired, too drawn out and cold to muster up any feeling beyond a creeping numbness, much like the chill in her fingers and toes. 

Shaking her head, she put the feeling aside for now and turned back toward the warmth she could feel more strongly now behind her. In the few minutes it had taken her to change, Link had gotten the fire going strong, and he had somehow already skewered a handful of mushrooms. Where he had gotten them, well...she wasn’t going to bother asking. He always had food stored somewhere, and if he didn’t, he could find it in record time. And besides, he had never cooked anything which she hadn’t found palatable. Even when she was still set on hating him, she had enjoyed the food he cooked on their trips.

His back was turned to her, and so she walked around him and took the place opposite the fire, folding her legs beneath herself and leaning toward the warmth. She felt his eyes on her, but she made no effort to meet his gaze. For now, all she could focus on was getting warm. 

And so they sat in silence for a while. Besides the crackling of the wood and the rushing of the falls in the Spring, there was little noise. He kept turning his skewer of mushrooms, and she warmed her hands, both of them content for now to sit with the quiet. 

He pulled the mushrooms from the fire and held the skewer out to her, and only then did she look up and meet his eyes. The same...gentleness from before was still there in his expression, and while she was glad they had stumbled upon some easier ground once again, she had no words at the moment to ensure it. So she took the skewer from him with a mumbled thanks, and they went back to their quiet.

It was only several minutes later, after he had made his own dinner and sat back to eat it, tending to the fire occasionally, that she found any words at all to say to him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her arms wrapped around her middle and hunched over the fire. 

He looked up from his own distraction, his expression slipping somewhere inscrutable once again. That strange depth had come back into his eyes, the look which had so frustrated her when they had first met, like he was looking straight through her eyes and into her thoughts, her most hidden feelings. 

And for once, she tried not to hide from that look. She stared back at him, wringing her hands, but beyond that, unmoving. 

Because she  _ was sorry,  _ for so many things, more than just her failures at this Spring, or her callousness toward him weeks ago, or the way she had treated him even earlier than that, when they had first met. She was sorry for every stupid, selfish, downright  _ mean  _ thought she had let fester since he had appeared at the Castle, and sorry for her impassable failure which she could not conquer. 

He watched her for several seconds, silent and watching, and then shook his head. 

With just a simple motion, it seemed that all her hopes were dashed. She looked down, twisting her fingers and trying to hold back the storm of ugly feelings and even uglier words which immediately came to mind. Had she been so cruel that they were reset completely to the beginning? Did her attempts at making amends really mean nothing to him? 

He cleared his throat roughly, and she looked up to see him trying to get her attention— _ and didn’t that make her feel worse, she knew he couldn’t speak and she still looked away from him more often than she would care to admit.  _ There was something panicked about his expression then, something a touch shy of frantic. 

He shook his head again, faster than before, and signed rapidly,  _ “I’m not denying your apology. But you don’t have anything to be sorry for.” _

This brought her up short, and she blinked at him, stunned. “But I…” she trailed off and tried again. “I was so...unkind to you, and you...you didn’t deserve that. Even after everything you told me I still...I was a child, and a silly one at that…”

He was still for a moment, perhaps waiting until he was sure she had finished to reply.  _ “You already apologized for that.” _

“No, I mean—”  _ goddesses, this was terrible,  _ “I mean during the storm…”

Frowning, he shook his head again.  _ “I was just as childish.” _

“I doubt that.”

He shrugged.  _ “It’s over. I’m not—it was just a fight. I don’t...dislike you for it.” _

“Oh…” she breathed, unsure how else to reply. She had thought for certain…

_ “And you don’t have to apologize for...this,”  _ he gestured around them, then toward the Spring.  _ “This isn’t your fault.” _

She curled a little closer to the warmth of the fire, ignoring the new blurriness of her vision. “It certainly feels like it is,” she said thickly, wiping at her eyes in frustration. “Father’s made sure of that…”

He huffed, and she looked up in time to see him sign a quick,  _ “Well, he’s wrong.” _

She was so surprised by his reply (and not to mention the frown he wore as he signed it) that for several seconds she could find nothing at all to say. 

He had always been the epitome of loyalty, nearly subservient, in every context in which she had seen him. Just days ago he had said nothing as her father scolded her in front of him and several other guards. He had never given any indication—not even the slightest sign—that he was anything but the silent, loyal knight everyone defined him as.

But hadn’t she misread him in the past? And where had that gotten her? Into two arguments, and frankly, two set downs that she had very much deserved for how childish she had been. He had proven to her at least twice that she knew precious little (if anything at all) about him. He was certainly not the impassable person she had assumed him to be when they met. 

“I can’t say I expected you to say that,” she managed after a moment, keeping her voice as light as she could. “But...thank you. You’re likely the only person who would dare to disagree with my father...except perhaps Urbosa.”

His frown went away, and though he didn’t quite smile, his expression brightened considerably.  _ “She would have said worse.” _

She laughed, a half-hearted, wet sort of thing which wasn’t the prettiest sound, but it was among the most genuine, topped only by the smile on her face. “That, I would never doubt. She has quite the sharp tongue, and my father has never been spared from it, King or not.”

_ “She’s a good friend.” _

Her smile softened, and she looked toward the fire. “She’s quite more than that, to me...she was friends with my mother before she…” her voice faded away, and she paused. “Well, since mother passed, she’s...taken up her place as much as she’s able. Which mostly includes fighting my father whenever she can...”

The sadness had left her voice by then, and as she continued on into a story of one of Urbosa’s many legendary shouting matches with her father, she forgot all about the Spring and her supposed failure at it. By the time the cold had left her and the fire burned low, her smiles were completely genuine and full, and if she were scrutinizing  _ him  _ a bit more, she might have noticed his own small smiles throughout her wandering tale. 

But she was too focused on the lighter feelings taking the weight from her shoulders for a little while, too pleased with the ease of their conversation to analyze all of its successes just now. That could come later, when she had a few moments to spare to journal her day. For now, she was only happy to be talking to him again.

It seemed their friendship had a chance after all.


End file.
